


ellipses

by sleepinnude



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M, mention of past addictions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-14
Updated: 2016-05-14
Packaged: 2018-06-08 09:52:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6849565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepinnude/pseuds/sleepinnude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>because kent and jack definitely at least made out a little before their fight at the epikegster. insert for "parse - part iii."</p>
            </blockquote>





	ellipses

**Author's Note:**

> i'm kent parson trash, welcome to my garbage pile.  
> basically, i got obsessed with the ellipses in parse part iii and much like seinfeld's infamous "yada yada," i decided it was a stand-in for things of a sexual nature. or just face kissing.
> 
> WARNING for mentions of jack's history of addiction and also the fact that it's kent and jack so, you know, not the healthiest of mindsets and/or relationships.  
> DISCLAIMER: most of the dialogue toward the middle through the end is taken right from "[" so, you know, i didn't write that dialogue](http://omgcheckplease.tumblr.com/post/111603787382)

It’s okay. It’s even good.

Last time was a goddamned trainwreck so anything would be better than last time but this isn’t just “not as bad as last time.” It’s good. Because Jack is good. Not better, entirely. Better than last time. Seeing Kenny fucking threw him, sure, but he just needed the moment to adjust. And then he could smile and talk and watch Kent be Kent fucking Parson.

But after selfies and beer pong and even some autographs (Kent had just sort of laughed and waved Jack off when he looked embarrassed about it but Jack could see a bloom of color behind his freckles), Jack just… He needs a minute. And not even because of Kent, not really. Just, the party and the people and… He just needs a minute. So he waits until Kent is talking about quiche (????) with Bitty so that he can safely sneak away without being chirped for it or stopped. Upstairs. Away from everything.

The party is only barely muffled through the floor but _alone_ helps. He can feel the swarm in his chest die down a little. He takes a large swallow from his drink, lets the fizz and sugar course through him. Focuses on the physical sensation to ease the tide of panic. It helps. So does breathing, counting his breaths, closing his eyes, feeling the air in his lungs and then out... 

“All chill, Zimms?”

Jack jumps a little but, really, he was expecting this. Hoping for it? No. Not hoping just… Knew it was going to happen. He turns and finds Kent standing in his doorway like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to come in. Jack cocks his head a little shoves his hand through his hair. “Yeah,” he rasps and he puts down his cup. Kent’s eyes flicker to the plastic. He doesn’t say anything, but Jack feels like he has to. “It’s just Coke.” His tone isn’t defensive (not like it used to be, not like when he was lying about the contents) and Kent smiles instead of sighing, frowning, looking away.

“I know,” he says. He fusses with his cap in a fit of nervous energy, twisting it from side to side. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to...” He flashes a smile but it’s all nerves. “I was just hoping for a chance to catch up.”

Guilt seeps through Jack’s system. Catch up because they don’t talk anymore. Because Jack doesn’t talk to Kent anymore, doesn’t answer his texts or his sparse voicemails, doesn’t call him Kenny anymore. Doesn’t think of him first thing in the morning and last thing at night. Doesn’t...doesnt.

He sets his cup down for the second of hesitation it provides. “Yeah,” Jack answers with a light look. “Yeah, it’s fine.” He wipes his hands on his jeans and moves to sit on his bed. “How’ve you been, Kenny?”

Kent’s entire face lights up at that, at the opening or the nickname Jack can’t be sure, and tugs his cap off, bunches it up in his hand. “Okay. I mean. Team’s good. They don’t hate me, so that’s good.”

“Hell of a game against Calgary,” Jack answers and Kent glows even brighter. Jack can’t help but match his smile. 

“Did you see it?” He’s a little breathless, like he always gets when recapping, excited with plays flickering behind his eyelids.

Jack closes off, shoulders hunched. Guilt and guilt and guilt. “Not… No, I didn’t catch it. Saw the highlights, though. More like the Kent Parson reel.” He nudges against Kent’s shoulder, the flattery an apology for missing the game. It does the job, more or less.

Kent pushes a hand through his hair and Jack’s smile makes a reappearance. That stupid lick of hair dead center is still straight up. He swore Kent styled it purposely that way. A large thunk sounds from downstairs followed by a cheer -- Kent and Jack meet eyes and laugh. “Hey, so,” Kent breaks the pause between them. “You’re graduating. You’re… I know there’s buzz, you know, but I was wondering if you had. You know. Committed.”

Static in his fingertips. The turn in conversation awakens the anxiety in him and it pits at his stomach. “I… I don’t know,” he mumbles. His hands grip at his knees and he can feel Kent’s eyes. “It… There’s a lot of options right now, I guess. So I’m just...grateful for that. That there are a bunch of teams that would still want me.”

Kent’s eyes narrow a little and he shifts a little closer, fighting to catch Jack’s eyes. “Thanks for the Bleacher Report answer,” he says but his voice is soft, not cruel. It’s… It’s seeking, it’s asking, it’s wanting. It’s offering. A gentle hand up, like Kent, always waiting. For Jack. “C’mon, Jack. It’s me. You’re telling me you have no have no clue?”

Jack swallows. Tries not to clench his eyes shut or grind his teeth. Tries not to feel boxed in and smothered by Five-Years-Ago Jack. “I mean… It could be Montreal, it could be LA, okay? I don’t know.” He stands then, pacing back to his desk just for something to do. To put distance between them.

Kent rises, though, follows him, and puts a hand to his shoulder. Jack looks to him and that’s a mistake because Kent’s face is an open wash of hope. “What about Las Vegas?” he asks. And there’s something of Five-Years-Ago Kenny in that question, something of no-look passes and that summer after and tangled bed sheets and too much Lexipro. 

Jack sighs and it aches between his lungs. “I… I don’t _know_ , okay?”

Kent’s face is pained but it’s that look that he used to get when he caught Jack stoned. It’s the face that’s pained for Jack, not because of him. His hand pets down Jack’s spine and the familiarity of it all has Jack shuddering, nerves on high alert for a split second before they just melt away. “Parse,” he sighs out. And leans in. Kent leans in.

Kent leans in like he always did -- he prints a quiet, searching kiss to the corner of Jack’s mouth and waits as Jack just exhales slow and long. So Kent rocks onto his toes to kiss Jack again. His hand is at Jack’s waist, fingers inching beneath the tee shirt there. Jack’s breathing stutters and he reaches for Kent’s collar. Wrinkles the preppy line of it. Gets lost for a minute, lets himself get lost. Lets himself pretend that there isn’t snow outside and that it’s summer, that he’s eighteen but sober and they’re in his childhood room and they’re not thinking about the draft, just thinking about playing pro together, meeting on the ice and tossing friendly chirps back and forth. Ruffling up hair and snapping towels and pressing into each other in hotel rooms. 

The heady rush of it all crashes around him as he feels Kent’s hips on his and then the desk against the back of his thighs. Breaking the kiss, he keeps a sturdy hand at Kent’s chest. “Kenny…” The other boy’s breathing shivers. “I can’t do this.”

Hurt flashes over Kent’s face but it dilutes as he blows out a breath. Lays his forehead against Jack’s. “ _Jack_.” His voice is a familiar plea, almost a whine, almost as needy as when he was bare for Jack and waiting, waiting, waiting. “Come on.” He nuzzles his face into Jack’s cheek and stubble catches on stubble. 

“No, I…” But he hasn’t taken his hand off Kent yet and it slides over his shirt, down to his hips where he grips the hem messily. “Uh…” He could never think straight, when Kenny was there. He fits his other hand into Kent’s hair just to feel it. He’d forgotten what it feels like. Forgotten the thrill of satisfaction at tangling the style up.

Kent darts in then, kissing him again, deep and hot and _God_ , Jack remembers what it had been like to be addicted to Kent, to kissing Kent, to feeling that soul-deep need reaching out for him. How good it had felt. How easy it was to drown in it all. But he couldn’t do that, not now, not here. He pulls back and it’s a little more violent than he means, his voice a little too loud when he says, “Kenny--” It’s half-pleading and half-angry and all desperate. And it gets the message through, but maybe a little more than the message, it might be a little too clear.

Because when Kent pushes away it’s with a with a huff, aggravated. He flings an arm out, gesturing as he talks too fast. “Zimms, just fucking _stop thinking_ for once and listen to me.” He shudders, shoulders aligning, fingers twitching. “I’ll tell the GMs you’re on board and they can free up cap space. Then you can be done with this shitty team. You and me--”

“Get out.” He says it before he can even register it, whip sharp and louder than before. He knows, he _knows_ , that’s not what Kent meant. Knows that Kenny was just aching, aching for him, for the two of them back together again, playing together again. But he can’t, he can’t think of that, can’t think of _with Kent_ now. There’s too much else. 

All the air in the room gets swallowed up as Kent realizes exactly what he said. Realizes how different what he said is from what he meant. He rubs a hand over his face, pleading, “--Jack.”

“You can’t--” Jack cuts him off, anxiety giving way to anger, fierce and hot. And he’s wrong, he knows he’s wrong because he knows Kent is wrong but he can’t stop, not when he’s already going like this. “You don’t come to my school unannounced--”

“Because you shut me out!” Kent shouts back, face red and tight. His hair is strewn, shirt off-kilter and he is beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.

“And corner me in my room--”

“I’m trying to help you--”

“And expect me to do whatever you want--”

“Fuck-- Jack! What do you want me to say?” His arms are wide, fingers splayed, open and asking. “That I miss you? I miss you, okay?” He drops his head and his shoulders follow. Jack wants to reach out and touch him. “...I miss you.”

They both freeze.

They both breathe, heavy.

There’s shuffling outside and the party rages downstairs and Jack can’t breathe, then. He knows Kent misses him, knows it like he knows his own name. Knows it like he knows Bitty has feelings for him, knows it like he doesn’t know what his own feelings are doing (now, the summer of ‘09, ever). His throat clicks when he swallows and there’s a drum beat in his head telling him “Say it back, say it back, say it back.” But when Kent told him he loved him (soft and hidden against his neck, out on a hammock in the backyard), Jack had been too folded into himself, too high, too tremulous, to say it back. And now… Now Jack is too folded into himself, too sober, too tremulous. “...You always say that.”

Kenny looks like he’s just taken a punch. He swipes his hat off the bed and moves to the door in one angry motion, like a big cat stalking. “...Huh. Well, shit. Okay.” His voice is clogged and it almost sounds like he used to sound when he would get drunk but Jack is a scholar in all the minutia that is Kent Parson and he knows that this particular catch is Kent trying not to cry, trying not to feel anything. He remembers it from Kent’s dad walking out, from their singular loss, from a hospital bed. A snuffle. An inhale. “…You know what, Zimmermann? You think you’re too fucked up to care about? That you’re not good enough? Everyone already knows what you are, but it’s people like me who still care.” He’s swallowing and there are gasps between the words and Jack knows, Jack knows, when Kent gets hurt he gets mean. A defense mechanism, _you can’t leave me, I’ll leave you first_.

“Shut up.” His voice is small and if his heart weren’t in his brain, Jack would be ashamed of it. If Kent weren’t so angry he would hear the “Stop. Stay.” beneath it all. 

“You’re scared everyone else is going to find out you’re worthless, right? Oh don’t worry, Jack. Just give it a few seasons, trust me.”

There is a fine tremor running over Jack’s spine then and his hands grip the desk chair so that the wood creaks. He desperately, destructively, wishes that there were alcohol in his Coke. “G-get out of my room.” The words grind out between his teeth and there’s nothing underneath them this time, no meaning lost between vowels. 

“Fine. Shut me out again.” Kent is still all wild animal, hand on the doorknob.

“And stay… Stay away from my team.”

Kent smiles and it’s sharp and angry as he spits out, “Why? Afraid I’ll tell them something?”

Jack knows he would never, knows because Kent loves Jack more than Jack hates himself, but that doesn’t stop a shiver of fear, of anxiety, that finds his veins at the look in his eyes. But then it’s gone because Kent loves him and he loved (loves?) Kent and it all just hurts. It’s five years later and he can’t figure out why it still does, but it still does, it still _hurts_. So he just moves the few steps to follow Kent out of the room. “Leave, Parse.” It’s firm and it’s loud so Kent isn’t mistaken by the softness in his eyes.

They open the door and Bitty is there, on the floor and Jack. Jack can’t breathe. Bitty is there and he heard? He heard. He heard and Bitty is there and Kent has his back to him. Kent is leaving, is talking about his father and Bad Bob was always so fond of Kent and Kent was the golden boy and Jack was a shaking mess, is a shaking mess and Kent

is

leaving.

His cap is back on and he’s fixing his collar and Jack can only watch the Aces logo bobbing down the hall and Jack can’t breathe. Sound distorts and he slams into his room. Doesn’t make it to the bed, just crashes to the floor and tries to feel the solid wood of the door behind behind him, tries to feel the solid wood of the floor beneath him and his meds are too far and his phone is too far but he needs to talk to his mom, he needs to talk to his mom, he needs his mom, he needs to talk to his mom, he needs to he needs to he needs his Maman.

Hands in his hair and heart against his eyes and door on his back, Jack waits until he can breath again, until he can move again.

Kent leaves.

**Author's Note:**

> *lays down* *tries not to cry* *cries a lot*
> 
> if you want to witness my pain i guess you can follow me on [tumblr](http://www.buchannybarnes.tumblr.com)!


End file.
